


Humanity Lost

by GamerJuices



Category: Mother 2: Gyiyg no Gyakushuu | EarthBound, Mother 3
Genre: Gen, gamers only, i tried okay :(
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29303016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GamerJuices/pseuds/GamerJuices
Summary: The Masked Man attempts to find what little bit of humanity he has left while serving his master. It is not until he unknowingly meets his long-lost brother that he truly begins to grow.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1: Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yo yo whattup

The Commander had never asked for more than a helpless soul below him to grind the bottom of his boot with. He was content with the feeling of someone he knew had done nothing to wrong him staring into his soulless eyes, begging for mercy he knew they deserved but he refused to grant. He bathed in the potent odor of fear no bath could remove that followed him. True art to him was the synchronized waltz of the flames, merciless, effortlessly bounding from one victim to another. The world was its stage, just as it was for the Commander. He had no memory of his birth, his early years, nothing to even hint what morphed him into the beast he was, and with this he was content. He had always been like this, and it confused him all the more when the pleasure he sucked from the torment he brought began to wane.  
His first instinct was a fault in his programming. Every other time he had failed to carry out his task, felt even an ounce of remorse in his actions or pity for those he would trample, he would report to his Master. This time was no different. Just like every other time, he would spitefully admit these ideas, these flaws of his perfect mind to his Master, who would direct him to the professor. Before he knew it, the world would begin to spin around him, his eyes would lose focus, and the next thing he knew he was in his bed a day later, free of any horrific weaknesses. He never asked how, for it did not matter to him. His flaws were cleansed from his then-flawless system.  
When the Commander awoke, his head throbbed as if a mallet had been smashed against him for the duration of his sleep, an all too common occurrence. His helmet was said to suppress such pains, though it ultimately did little. Once, he had made the horrific mistake of removing it in hopes to subside such pain, and to his surprise, the daggers stabbing into his skull were briefly pulled out. In fact, he had felt more refreshed, cleansed, focused, than ever before. He had rushed to tell Master his discovery. The next day, he woke up with no recollection of the event and a new strap to keep his helmet firmly on.  
The Commander had dreamt again. He had been ordered to report any activity of the sorts, part of a large and still counting list of similar circumstances, and while he had for every single other, he had never brought up this recurring dream to his Master. Of course he felt terrible of it, it would often sink its deep tendrils of shame into his brain as he attempted to sleep, grasping his full attention and threatening to drag a confession out of him. His Master deserved none of his deceit, when he swore his loyalty to him he knew such lies would not be tolerated, however in an equal sense he always failed to report it.  
He dreamt of a woman, donned a red dress with flowing chestnut hair in a field of sunflowers. The Commander hated sunflowers, his guilt would not permit him to feel otherwise. She would beckon to him, calling out, though her words always reached his ears in a scrambled state, as if he had been dragged underwater. As much as he knew he was sinning for it, he always attempted to translate her garbled nonsense. She always gazed at him with teary brown eyes, longfully watching him as if he were miles away though they were only separated by a few feet. She began to repeat the same word over and over again. A short, single-syllable word she would chant to him, and his ears would strain to understand her message. Just as soon as he seemed to decode it, he woke up in a cold sweat. His nightmares would continue to haunt his furious mind for the rest of the day.  
The persisting ideas of the prior day returned to him like a bucket of ice to the Commander’s face. For the first time, his treatment has not succeeded. Cursing under his breath, the Commander began to suit up for the day. Despite his request, in which he refused to repeat, no mirror lay on the wall of his quarters. He sighed and entered the bathroom, removing its own mirror from above the sink and placing it in front of him. His uninterested face stared back at him. Besides his helmet, his face was the sole part of his body spared from modification. His right arm was replaced by a metallic equivalent, though he refused to admit it was inconvenient in any aspects besides combat. His legs were plated with metal bearings, aiding quick movement on the battlefield though cramping when he remained still for too long. His chest was plated with a shiny iron plate, completely blocking most any attack directed to it. A loose screw allowed him to slightly tear it off, though he was met with the foul stench of rotten flesh. He never checked again. The Commander felt no shame towards his disfigured body. It had proved itself in battle time and time again. Despite his unorthodox demeanor, the Commander was still a boy his age, and he clenched his arm, revealing a powerful forearm. He smiled. Hiking up his orange pants and buttoning a brown jacket over his undershirt, the Commander readied himself. Finally, he made sure to check on the firmness of his helmet strap as instructed. With his waking routine completed, the Commander quickly freed the doorway of his chamber and began a rigid march.  
The Commander’s quarters were located in a completely different hall than a common soldier of his army. It was cramped, uncomfortable, and generally unfit for living, but was as much as one could ask when comparing it to the common quarters of the army. Rows of disgusting men in overheating costumes with little sense of hygiene or smell left created a concoction actively threatening to the untrained nose. The Commander desperately wished his men would at least try and make an effort to improve their overall hygiene, though failed to ever bring it up. As the door to his quarters slid shut, the Commander twisted his robotic arm, activating a morph sequence. A few seconds of excruciating pain later, the end of his arm held a metallic cannon suitable for conflict. Though it was inconvenient in any other sense, much like the rest of his modifications, the Commander was to always appear with it in front of his men.  
Snapping away from their unfocused meandering, the Commander’s eyes locked on a squad of approaching soldiers cloaked in thick pinkish-brown suits and large visors with the crude design resembling that of a snarling pig on it. The Commander wondered how anyone could be so scared of an army with such a ridiculous uniform, though he knew better than to bring it up to his Master.  
“Commander sir,” one of the soldiers exclaimed, nearly yelling. The entire group of men raised their arms in a coordinated salute, facing their Commander, who briefly saluted back and continued onwards. He remembered at first feeling important, special even when an entire army would treat him with such courtesy and respect, though as the Commander continued to lead them and discover their true effectiveness, or lack thereof, such excitement quickly vanished.  
The door to the cafeteria grew as the Commander approached it, soon lurking over his relatively small stature. The doors of his base were clearly designed for his soldiers, men much older than him who had no trouble with them, though no one dared make fun of the Commander when he struggled to pry it open. Eventually he would simply kick the door down and enter. If it was not replaced by the time he left, all those in his vicinity’s rations would be halved.  
Fortunately he had no trouble with the door, carelessly grasping its handle and tugging it open, revealing a massive room in front of him filled with dining soldiers. It was the only room besides their quarters in which they could free their heads of their sickening headgear. The Commander was not allowed to remove his. His eyes shot to a table full of soldiers, laughing and stuffing their faces with the near-endless junk food the cafeteria supplied them with. This was the main reason the Commander hated the cafeteria so much, it sickened him. As he approached the kitchen, a group of men burst through the side doors of the cafeteria, surrounding some struggling mass. The Commander approached them in curiosity and his eyes caught an indistinguishably blond strand of hair protrude from the mass of soldiers.  
Now directly behind the soldiers, the Commander pushed away two soldiers blocking his path to obtain a clear view of what they were attempting to subdue. It was a boy, seemingly slightly younger than he, wearing a tacky striped shirt, short jeans, and was topped off by locks of shiny, blond hair. Before the Commander could even begin to question the intentions of his soldiers, the boy yelled indistinctly. The Commander, honed to near immediate and precise reaction and quite aware of what would follow, dove away from the boy and mass of soldiers, landing in a roll. A powerful blast of color erupted behind him, sending his captors soaring away and into the nearest wall. The rest of the soldiers gasped in shock and goggled at the boy who now struggled to find his footing and stand up straight while the Commander swung his legs over his head, propelling him upwards into a ready stance.  
The closest soldiers charged the boy, though were met with a flurry of pain as the blond-headed boy grabbed a nearby tray and forcefully slammed it into his approachers, augmenting his attacks with the same magic he had used just prior. It was Psi, the Commander was sure of it, a rare and ancient technique performed by few gifted individuals, including himself. However, the Commander did not need any assistance of his own to support him, as he approached the boy with a flying kick, knocking him off his feet. The boy quickly swung his head up and stared in shock at his attacker, only to receive another swift and powerful kick, this time to his forehead. His soldiers, now surrounding him and his victim as if it were a simple brawl on the playground, cheered him on, though began to falter as they witnessed the Commander repeatedly bash the blond boy’s head into the ground.  
He paused, assessing the damage he had caused. The boy was clearly in no state to fight back and was bleeding in multiple spots from his nose to his forehead. Some of the soldiers chose to look away though others instead chose to remain watching as the Commander put on a show. No one questioned the hopelessness of the blonde boy in the situation, though the Commander knew these situations were rare. Not only was he able to prove his lack of mercy and thirst for blood in his continued beating of the boy, he was able to do so in front of his own army. More and more men began to look away, queasy, as the Commander continued to bash the boy until his body finally lay limp on the ground, unmoving save for the light rise and fall of his chest. Blood dribbled from his broken face to the ground, amassing in a light puddle in which the Commander bathed his boots in, smiling.  
“Bring him to my quarters,” he barked at the two nearest soldiers.  
“But sir, shouldn’t we bring ‘im to the infirmary?” one of them piped up. The Commander found no need to respond, instead turning his body and returning to his march to the kitchen as if nothing had happened, leaving bloody shoe prints in his wake.


	2. Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo ya boy is back with chapper 2

Lucas awoke in a gloomy chamber, isolated from the sunlight he had grown up and known all his life. He immediately thought back to what his mother had always told him. The sunlight gave its light and vibrancy to his golden hair, just like the plants in their garden. Without it, he would not have such vibrancy and bounce. He pulled down a tuft of well-groomed hair in front of his eyes. Nothing yet. With that Lucas’s eyes wandered curiously around the room, disappointed in what they found. Depressing gray wallpaper enveloped the room in an eerie cloud and the room was empty save for a rickety old cot. As if his surroundings had broken a dam, his memories rushed back into his mind, reminding him of his situation.

Lucas trotted down a long, straight road for what seemed like hours, though the sun’s position in the sky seemed to suggest otherwise. Still trembling from the cold, he flicked a lock of damp hair out of his ocean blue eyes, straightening back into its usual style the best he could without a mirror. He knew how silly his hair would look later if he failed to position it well while still wet. He chose to focus on that over the recent occurrence he had just experienced. He was not even sure why he approached the strange man he saw on the head of that cliff. Even less so he had any sensical idea of why he agreed to join the man in the pool of water he seemed to be bathing in. Something had just drawn him to it. Whether it be the oddly smooth and perfect surface of the pool or mysterious twinkle in the man’s eye when he first noticed him. 

The man had gone about some magical force of some kind, Lucas was not truly lending his full attention, instead fascinated by the sparkling butterflies that fluttered around him. He normally had no trouble recognizing types of animals by even the smallest distinction, though his mind blanked when he saw what could only be described as pure beauty. The next thing he knew, he was thrust under the chilling tides of the pond. As he struggled to escape the man’s grip, the frigid water clawed at his throat, ripping the air out of it. It was stupid to join such a man. It was even stupider to allow his mind to wander as said mysterious and albeit suspicious man was speaking to him, Lucas now realized that. Just as his lungs were grasping for the tiny supply of oxygen it had left, Lucas felt the same hand that had dragged him under the water pull him back out.  
Common sense and immediate reaction would have sent Lucas fleeing from his tormentor the second he was freed, though he did not. Instead he felt a swelling deep in his body. He felt around his chest and eventually landed right above his heart, which seemed to give off some kind of strange pulsation. Before he knew it, his vision flashed with pain and he doubled over. The man began to speak again, but Lucas still failed to hear him, now hunched over the side of the pond. His heart seemed to swell larger and larger, almost to the point of bursting, when finally the man brought his finger to the boy’s chest and prodded his heart. Lucas’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he toppled over, unconscious.

When he awoke, Lucas immediately experienced another stabbing pain in his chest, as if a hammer had struck a nail right into his heart, though fortunately the tortute quickly subsided. A key seemed to turn in Lucas’s brain, igniting an explosion of thoughts and knowledge. His thoughts boomed in his head like his brain held a megaphone up to his ear, and a wave of power seemed to seep through him, spawning sparks when it reached down to his toes. 

“PK Love!” the Boy cried without any hesitation or notion. Another surge of power, this time from his brain to his fingertips shot out a burst of hexagonal shapes, dancing in the sky in front of their origin, slowly spreading out and disintegrating into the sky in front of him. Lucas stared at his hands in shock. Did he just do… magic? Of all the ideas of conceptions he had believed in, magic was not included, so he was evermore shocked when it seemed to burst from his own fingertips. Only then did the boy finally stop to observe his surroundings. He had been seemingly dragged out of the frigid pool, else he would have woken up an ice cube, though the man from before was nowhere to be seen. 

Lucas gazed up at the sky. He had forgotten the specific position of the sun, though he was certain it had fallen a fair bit. Night would soon be upon him, though he gave it little woe. He had just performed magic! What had he shouted to activate it? He could not recall, his brain had seemingly taken control over his tongue in the moment. Simply holding out his hands parallel to the rough soil beneath his feet, Lucas quickly shut his eyes and focused, attempting to recreate the sheer feeling of power and strength that had coursed through him right before he had created those shapes in the sky, though to no avail. After a while, his head began to complain from the effort, and he gave up for then. A couple minutes, possibly a few, maybe even a half hour flew by as Lucas continuously racked his brain for any method to recreate his mystifying performance. 

As the sun dipped below to the horizon, waving goodbye for the day with a few remaining rays of light, Lucas scolded himself under his breath. He had gotten distracted again, and while seemingly magic powers were certainly nothing to ignore, his quest was more important. As his mind flipped back to reality, he realized his little act had likely shot a flare to anyone around, signaling of his presence. Time was never generous, he would have to clear the area quickly to avoid any malevolent beings who may seek him.

Just as he was about to enter another tunnel leading out of the opening he was in, a large shadow materialized over his head. Lucas stared in shock as a large spherical object emitting flames and smoke lowered itself onto him. His first instinct was to flee and never look back, but his curiosity seized control once again and he found himself stuck, transfixed at the object slowly becoming larger and larger as it towards towards him. Lucas had of course seen birds, who resided in the skies, but he had never seen such anything quite as large and intricate in the same domain as them. His curiosity and amazement spiked even higher when a side of the large gadget flipped open, and a man in a disgusting shade of pink emerged from it. Compared to the incredible object in which he seemingly originated, the man was grossly overweight, stank of a gross amalgamation of clashing foods, and overall disgusting. Lucas was shocked something of those sorts could emerge from such a beautiful contraption, though he had little time to mull it over as the man leapt from the now hovering object onto him, knocking the much smaller boy onto the ground. A second man followed, then a third, then a fourth, until an overly-excessive force shoved Lucas straight into the ground, bruising his face through the rough dirt.

“Is this the one?” the first man asked in a rough accent.

“Don’t know, but no one else is around here, who else could that thing have come from?” the second responded in a different yet equally gruff accent. 

“Hey kid, could you do some more magic for us?” the first man replied, breaking into a snorting fit. 

Lucas could do nothing but struggle and groan as the weight of four men bearing onto him twisted his body in uncomfortable ways. Eventually, he noticed the dirt below him began to dampen and realized small droplets of water fled his eyes, sliding down his puffy cheeks and onto the soil below. 

The men soon noticed as well and began to forcefully shove the boy’s head into the dirt until a cascade of tears ran down his face. 

Lucas had promised himself he would not cry again, and he had already failed, though that was the least of his concerns. Desperate, he made one last attempt to summon any sort of magic in his defense, but again found no success, only rousing more distraught in him. After the men’s laughter finally died down, Lucas felt a surge run through him, though not the kind he had experienced before in his magic outburst. One of the men had grabbed a stick furiously emitting sparks and jabbed it into him. Once again, his eyes rolled back and his brain spared him any more pain, leaving his body limp in the grip of his captors.

All of that brought Lucas back to his current situation, battered and bruised and seemingly trapped in an escapeless terminal. He felt his eyes begin to fill with water, tears beginning to escape and once again dampen the floor beneath him, but Lucas refused. He had already broken his oath, in front of four other people no less, he would let it be shattered so easily again. He instead allowed his eyes to scan the room again, assessing the true validity of his situation. He seemed to be in some sort of cell, at least the less than ideal conditions suggested so. Lucas ignored the small glimmer of hope in his mind calling for him to check if the door was locked, his rational side was already sure of it. 

He sighed and allowed his shoulders to slump, his legs slowly giving way as he slid to the ground. His mother had always told him to keep decent posture, else he would not grow correctly, though he simply did not care anymore. With nothing to do but lay and wait for any sort of information, his mind began to search for answers. Why was he here? He was not sure, though most likely because of his burst of magic. He would not be surprised if it was spotted from at least a mile away. No doubt his magic painted a clear target on his back, a target that wound him up here. Eyes furrowing in annoyance, Lucas internally screamed at himself, more specifically, his powers. They seemed to be playing one elaborate and malevolent trick on him, only activating rarely and in useless situations to fill him with any sort of false hope of their potential usefulness, only to be let down when they refused to budge when their time truly came. 

As Lucas continued to reflect on how he landed in such an unfortunate situation, the rusted metal door creaked open, bearing room for a figure. He could not help but stare in the boy, if he could even qualify as such, that stood before him. Donned in a furry brown jacket, the figure’s legs were bent in seemingly impossible angles, not too noticeable but certainly unusual. His right arm appeared standard enough, but in place of what should have been its mirrored image was some sort of metallic barrel protruding from his forearm. The superior style of his clothing, at least compared to the uniforms of the men he witnessed earlier, suggested a high rank. To cap off his look, a large metal helmet held tightly to his head, which seemed to be caged inside. Lucas was not sure if he was horrified or fascinated at what he saw. He settled on a little bit of both. He did not realize the boy still had failed to notice him until he pulled off his boots and allowed his bed to cradle his body. Staying undetected would likely spare him from any additional punishment, a hopeful reassurance, especially as Lucas just noticed his lip had swollen to almost twice its size after his earlier beating. Then it hit him. Any preconceived notion of safety or pity possibly granted by the figure was shattered when Lucas realized it was the same creature that had left him in his battered state. 

His plan shifted from undetection to self-defense. He saw it as the only way he saw to avoid the wrath of his tormentor. Any hope he had gathered quickly disappeared as he realized he was no match for his enemy. The figure was broader and stocky, clearly physically superior, at least in brute force. Even in collaboration with a surprise attack, his much scrawnier body could serve no match. His mind instantly flipped to any physical prowess he may possess to aid him in at least escaping his opponent, but the claustrophobic restrictions of the room seemed to leave physical combat as the only option. Fortunately, the figure seemed tired and worn out, its shoulders equally sagging and muscle trembling from some sort of demanding activity just prior. 

Lucas’s plan proved circular as his mind settled on a sneak attack. Unless he could somehow exit the room undetected, his only option was battle, and the only glimmer of hope he saw in his chances were if he were to possess the advantage of surprise. Just as his target began to fiddle with his seemingly mechanical appendage, Lucas bent his legs and leapt at him from behind, knocking them both to the floor. Fortunately, he landed on top of his opponent and swung a fist right between his opponent’s eyes, but was shocked to find it so easily blocked. Lucas’s hand begged to be released as his other arm rose to attack in its place, but a kick to the stomach sent him tumbling into the bed, gasping for air. 

Lucas desperately attempted to scramble away while his lungs scrambled for air, but quickly found his neck in the grip of his opponent. A glare of pure hate and disgust seemed to send a shock down Lucas’s back, his muscles suddenly shivering in fear. The figure effortlessly lifted him up by the neck while his victim attempted to escape, kicking and punching. His eyes widened in horror as his face began to shade a sickening shade of dark purple, and it was not until his eyes seemed to almost pop out of his head as his tormentor slammed him into the ground.

Lucas could not help it any longer, he began to sob once more, the floodgates of tears he had just struggled to remain shut burst open, sending a cascade of water onto his shirt. He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his stomach, crippling him to the ground. He was unsure what he had felt until it was repeated, this time quite aware of the figure jamming his foot into his side. Looking into his opponent’s eyes for any semblance of pity for the torment he was subjecting him to, Lucas found only rising anger and frustration in his opponent as his tears fell harder and harder. Eventually, a disastrously-placed kick forcibly stopped his bawling, replacing terrified sobs with desperate gasps for air. Only then did his tormentor subside, grinning, though his smug expression of pleasure slowly morphed into one of discontent. He shoved his foot into Lucas’s stomach once more then backed away, sighing in boredom while his victim lay on the floor, crippled and wheezing behind him. Lucas’s brain, mostly oblivious to any thoughts except the searing pain shooting through his body, could not conceive what plans the figure could possibly have for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whatya think so far? constructive criticism appreciated
> 
> can u believe it takes be like and hour and a half to write a short chapter like this? guess I'm just mad cause bad


	3. Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The Commander wanted more than anything to enjoy the experience. It was all he had ever dreamed of and more, a less than helpless victim shedding rivers of tears with only the pitiful shreds of mercy the Commander would still admit. A year, even, a month, or even a week ago he held no doubt it would have lived up to his expectations, as it had countless times before of praying on the weak to fill the ever-increasing hole of emptiness he felt inside of him. Much to his dismay and resistance, the hole had continued to grow, now to a point where his most desired fantasies would not satisfy it. 

“Get up,” he growled, his eyes baring down at the helpless boy below. If he was too distraught to react or simply did not hear, the Commander was unsure, but it made little difference to him. He lifted his leg in preparation for another blow, though stopped at the apex of his momentum. In an unheard of act of hesitation, he lowered his boot to the ground, instead nudging the trembling body of his helpless victim over. He would not have been surprised to later discover he had shattered his ribs or anything of the sort, though he noticed he had left the boy’s face untouched. 

Past the incoherent babbling of its wearer, the Commander examined it. His eyes were ocean blue, his blond hair remained perfectly combed and modeled, and the bones of his pale face nearly showed through his skin. His mind could piece together no reason as to why, but he continued to stare. He had never examined another’s face so thoroughly before, never noticed the faint freckles painted around the boy’s nose or the slight discoloration of his eyebrows compared to his golden hair. In fact, at that moment, he felt like he knew the boy’s face better than any other, even his own. As the commander of a faceless army, the only image he knew of his own men was ingrained into his mind, their identical colored helmets, the harbinger of terror for many others, and in the rare occasions their masks no longer obscured their faces, the Commander was disgusted, physically repulsed by their disgustingly unkempt appearances. Even in the missions and expeditions he led, he rarely found himself face-to-face with the people they attempted to herd. In this boy, his battered and tormented victim, he found something he had never recognized before. Humanity. The men of his own army were mindless and brainwashed slaves, any village-folk on the outside would not dare look him in the eyes, and he himself was only limited by what little remained of his human shell. Yes, in this boy he realized why he felt no permanent pleasure in his destruction, no satisfaction in his sadism. Though every little bit of him that made him such an effective killing machine came from his metallic enhancements, he was still tied to the structure of a human, and that he could not change.

Though his sudden realisation had delayed his wrath, a new wave of jealousy coursed through his veins. He had always found pride in being the Commander, found none more fulfillment than carrying out each task assigned with utmost efficiency, the boy awoke a long-repressed yearning inside. He failed not once before recently to report it to his master, though no reset or wipe of his mind could erase the basic desire of being human again, and now it seemed to seize his body and forcefully take control of his mind. Instead of dragging his heel deeper into the stomach of the boy groaning before him, he found himself hoisting him up and lowering him onto his own cot. 

The boy’s face remained unreadable through his outburst, the Commander imagined he felt confused by the sudden change of tone of the actions of the boy who had just a minute ago kicked his stomach in. Suddenly gripping his head with his available hand, the Commander stumbled into his bathroom, staring desperately into the mirror. Focusing his violent outburst to himself, he threw his fist onto his own face, repeating it until own eyes became almost swollen shut. His reflection seemed to stare back at himself in anger and disappointment, directing even more fists into himself. It could not believe what he had just done, and scolded him for his weakness. He would have to report to his master as soon as possible, then he could be repaired. The scowl glued to his face evened out a little, and his eyes brightened. Nothing a trip to the professor could not fix. He triumphantly brought his leg forwards in a march, though he toppled over onto the ground, his leg bending in an incorrect angle, stabbing daggers on pain up it and through his torso. In his internal conflict, the Commander had forgotten completely of his prior wounds, now proving devastating as he attempted to drag his crippled figure across the ground to the door, though to no avail. His leg screamed in agony, his brain responding in equal volume. Overwhelmed, he allowed his body to collapse limp on the floor.

***

When the Commander’s eyes flicked open, he flinched in surprise to see a deep blue ocean staring back at him. His former victim quickly jumped back and held his body against the wall in fear of another attack. Instead, the Commander groaned in pain and surveyed his surroundings. He was still in his chambers, though he was now lying next to his bed, a pillow supporting his neck and head from the hard ground below, whereas he last remembered sprawled out on the floor of his bathroom. He strained his back in an attempt to pull himself upwards. It refused, and he was instead met with an immediate stabbing pain, causing him to gasp slightly and fall back into his pillow. The boy, watching, seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 

“I-I tried to g-get you onto the bed, b-b-but I wasn’t strong enough,” he whimpered, slowly approaching the Commander’s unmoving form.

The Commander formulated a response, though his mouth refused to reciprocate his words. Instead it began to foam, garnering a look of concern from the other boy.

“A-a-are you okay?” he asked, instantly morphing from concerned for himself to the collapsed figure in front of him. “Wait, h-hold on, let me try something…” he rambled nervously. He closed his eyes, strained his mind, puffed his chest, and extended his hand onto the Commander’s leg. A wave of warmth and pure euphoria washed over him, filling in the cuts his body was riddled with and reducing the intense pain of his leg to a dull pricking. “P-pretty cool, h-huh?” he smiled. “I just figured o-out how to do that. Feel any better?” 

The Commander hesitantly nodded though said nothing to the boy in return, instead choosing to stare at the ground in front of him. He could not begin to grasp the storm of emotions rushing through his head. Was he still angry at the boy, pitiful, or daresay even thankful? He quickly shook his head and ended up staring at the boy in front of him, causing him to quickly look away instead in embarrassment. 

“I h-hope it gets b-better.”

The Commander still said nothing. He had no idea where to even start, or if he should even express the faintest interest in communicating with the boy. 

“I’m sorry for t-trying to hurt you earlier.” Commander’s brain ran in circles trying to understand the boy’s motives. His assault on him could barely be considered self defense, did the boy really believe that. It must have been a trap, Commander could not comprehend any other possibility. Commander gave the boy credit, he was smarter than he appeared, though his logical side questioned why the boy would still aid him when he was in no condition to fight back? He must be trying to lull the Commander into a false sense of security, perhaps he realized evading the Commander’s wrath was far from the most difficult aspect of an escape. 

The boy, noticing the Commander’s frigid gaze, backed up until he net with the wall behind him. The seeds of doubt the boy had earlier planted in his mind began to sprout, causing the Commander to slap himself once more across the face, silently cursing himself for his incompetence. It was as if all of his training was for nothing, all the time having essential survival drilled into his head was nullified, as he had casually broken the most basic rule, trust no one. 

“Gee, s-s-stop slapping yourself, you’ll hurt yourself even m-more.” 

The Commander chose to ignore the boy’s concern and received another pummel on his own accord. He needed to be straightened out for his naive actions. Shaking his head and clearing his mind, the Commander next gripped the metal rungs supporting his mattress. His arms tightened as he attempted to pull himself onto the bed, much to the resistance of his legs, which refused. Eventually he stood upright, though his body threatened the collapse at even the smallest influence. The hardest part was complete. Next he lifted one of his legs off the ground and tried to straddle it over the bed, though it refused. The Commander’s vision filled with rage. He could not even place himself on his own bed. He was pathetic. Suddenly, he felt the weight of his body slightly alleviate. He looked down, seeing his prisoner supporting his weight, aiding him onto his bed. His tiny cot was far from comfortable, though it was an improvement over the frigid and solid floor. Another scowl sent the boy retreating to the opposite corner of the room. The Commander simply did not understand it, the boy would not give in. He refused to let the Commander take care of himself. The Commander allowed his racing mind to rest, attempting to clear it of his present woes. He sunk as best he could into his stiff mattress and sighed.

Once again, the boy interrupted the comfortable silence, asking “S-so, what’s y-your name?” 

The Commander groaned in response. He had no time for fooling around or pointless distractions, he needed rest. 

“Mine’s Lucas,” the boy continued, “M-mom always s-said it fit me. If you d-don’t want to tell me yours, I g-guess that makes sense. 

The Commander simply did not feel like explaining. Instead, he covered his ears with his equally undesirable pillow and shut his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for short chapter:(


	4. Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Lucas woke up to painful groans above his head. Normally he slept like a log, but in a musty cell on the cold metallic floor and general atmosphere of the place, it was quite the opposite. He poked his head up from his makeshift bed, if it could even be considered that, in the corner. A sinister silence filled the air. Then again, a fatigued gasp rang throughout the cell. He slowly and silently approached the bed of the other, disfigured, boy scrambling backwards when he suddenly turned over in his bed, staring Lucas right in the eyes. Lucas was not sure what was happening until he saw the indistinguishable glimmer of metal emerge from where should have been the boy’s right arm. He recoiled in queasiness, noticing the impossible angle at which the other boy’s arm was twisted in. It was unnatural, and more prevalently, extremely painful to his whole body. Lucas realized the boy was in worse condition than he had originally suspected, certainly not made better by his new conundrum. 

Lucas was unsure what to do. His senses demanded him to aid the poor boy, help dull the pain with his newfound healing magic and twist his arm back to a normal angle, but common sense whispered an opposite reaction. His captor was in no condition to partake in combat of any kind, much less move. On paper there was nothing stopping him from walking out the door and leaving the other boy to his cruel fate. Then Lucas remembered where he was. Escaping his current cage would leave him far from free, he was in the center of the Pigmask headquarters. It would take a miracle to escape, and with his current luck, he would not bet on it. Perhaps due to this logic or the incessant angle of morality on his shoulder, Lucas made up his mind. He slowly approached the boy, now writhing in pain as he attempted to straighten out his arm. Once he finally was in reach of the boy after a slow and cautious approach, he gently let out his right hand and placed it on the boy’s arm.

As Lucas feared, the boy’s knee-jerk reaction was to halt the unknown intentions of his approacher, and he quickly tied his arms around Lucas’s neck. 

“I-I… I’m just,” Lucas wheezed through labored breaths. “I’m just t-trying to help you.” The aggressor did not relinquish his grip, instead tightening it until Lucas’s face began to take on a shadow of sickening dark blue. Finally, he released his victim, shoving him back down to the floor where Lucas had begun. He was not quite sure the exact words, but Lucas was sure he heard the other boy spite himself under his breath. Lucas’s corner suddenly became appetizing as he hastily crawled away from his attacker. He knew he should feel contempt towards the boy, anger of being met with such a hostile reaction, though he could not. He instead felt pity as his eyes could not look away from the continued strain of the boy to relocate his twisted arm. After around ten minutes, most of which Lucas spent nervously staring at the boy, a satisfying click echoed around the room and the other boy’s groans of pain finally subsided. He sighed and sank back into his bed after shooting Lucas a look. Lucas considered reading emotions one of the few things to be one of the scarce abilities he possessed, though the other boy’s face was a blank page to him. His eyebrows were not furrowed in rage, nor his facial muscles wincing in pain, and he certainly showed no signs of remote happiness. He was unreadable to Lucas, an empty vessel devoid of any substantial emotions.  
“D-d-do you want me to heal y-your arm for you?” Lucas quietly asked. “It might make it f-feel better.” To Lucas’s surprise the other boy slowly turned himself over and brought his head up and down, begrudgingly nodding. 

He was unsure why, but he found a smile controlling his face as he quickly sprang up and rushed over to the injured boy, who truly seemed like his opinion could not become any more neutral and disinterested. Lucas pressed his hand to the boy’s arm, lightly at first, but eventually applying enough pressure to join them. Like before, he took in a deep breath, puffed his chest, and whispered the words his mind supplied him.

“PK Lifeup Alpha.” He closed his eyes, prepared for the telltale electric wave through his body that signified a successful spell. He was shocked to feel nothing, not even a spark of magic emitted from his hand to the injured body. Shaking his hand around, Lucas repeated the process. Still nothing. The thought failed to cross his mind that he may not even be able to reproduce the healing spell from earlier. In fact, from his disappointing record of success so far, he would have been wise to assume such a disappointing outcome. “I’m s-s-sorry,” he whispered. “I c-can’t get it to work.” 

Closely examining the other boy’s face, attempting to read any signs of emotion, anger, disappointment, anything. The wounded boy’s face remained unreadable. He kept his emotions locked inside him well, if he even experienced any. 

Lucas came to wonder if the boy felt much of anything at all. When he was not strict and firm, he often appeared exhausted and distant. Lucas tracked the focus of his gaze, which seemed to be some random point on the wall. Shyly, he waved his hand in front of the boy’s piercing green eyes. Still no reaction. Doubts of if he was even awake began to form in his mind. He wondered what had made him this way.

Lucas could not imagine withholding or even being devoid of any emotion. He knew his own emotions determined his actions, it was one of many weaknesses he recognized in himself. He was downtrodden and gloomy simply for being unable to aid the boy in an event of terrible physical pain, he could not imagine what the other boy had, or at least should have, felt when Lucas’s promised salvation was absent. 

As his eyes began to droop and his own limbs began to weight him down, Lucas found his barren corner much more welcoming as he lay down and surrounded himself in what little comfort he could scrape from the desolate room. His head lay on a small stack of paperback books, manuals to the Pigmask army that he had no interest in reading, his body under an extra towel he had found in the bathroom while the other boy had been unconscious. He hoped he did not mind too much, if not he would not resist in returning it, not that he would appear to have much of a choice. Lucas winced in pity at every pained groan that escaped the injured boy’s mouth. Fortunately, it began to subside and Lucas eventually drifted off into a deep slumber.

Lucas had dreamt again. If he were conscious he would have quickly noticed a recurring dream he was living through and quickly escaped back to reality, but of course his brain was tricked into believing he was ten years old again, back in his hometown. He was playing joyously with his twin brother, Commander, of course before he was stripped away from him as his family fell apart, but the young Lucas had nothing on his mind except for when lunch was. His mother would then appear, calling the two rascals in for food, prompting an energetic Commander to rush past his brother with mockeries of his lazy and slow-paced demeanor. 

Lucas was not sure if the dream was benevolent or a recurring nightmare of which he could not free his mind of. If given the choice, no doubt existed in his mind that he would instantly choose to return to that day forever, to return to his family and life as it should have been. However, no matter how much he desired it, how much time he spent living in a long-gone past, he could not. His mother and brother were gone, his father disinterested in caring for him. All he had was his dog, Boney, and while their bond was about as close as a boy and his hound could, he could not replace the family he had been robbed of. 

Like any other dream of his, when Lucas realized the nature of his situation, he was thrown out of his blissful visions and dunked right back into the cold and unforgiving reality he lived in. He rubbed his eyes, searching for any indicator of how long he was out for. Lucas was unsure of the cryptic number on the clock faintly emitting a red glow by the other boy’s cot in the room. He had never heard of any hour larger than twelve. He assumed the clock was broken, given the general condition of the room he would not have been surprised. He looked over at the lone cot, though found no body resting in it like when he had slowly drifted asleep. The curtain of safety was suddenly removed from his mind. His captor’s condition must have somehow improved, perhaps due to the same modifications that had allowed his leg to bend in such a way. It did not matter how in the end, but the other boy’s mobility deeply concerned Lucas. For all he knew, he could be preparing a punishment harsher than had been previously administered. He did not wish to think of such a thing. 

Suddenly interrupted by the rusty sliding of the door bearing entrance to the room he was trapped in, Lucas jumped back in surprise and fear as the steel-toed boots of his captor crossed into the room, of course harbinging the rest of the body they were connected to. Lucas quickly scrambled back into his corner, cowering in fear from a potential preemptive strike. To his surprise, the figure instead bent down to his knees before Lucas and lowered his face to his. Unless it was a trap of false security, Lucas was put at ease. 

The boy opened his mouth, then closed it after it had been left ajar for a moment. He repeated this, furrowing his brows. Lucas eventually realized he was attempting to spit something out, but some other factor, likely pride, was preventing him from doing so. Finally, his lips abided and a near-silent phrase exited his mouth. He leaned in to Lucas, nearly pressing their faces together. He took a deep breath and puffed his chest, seemingly prepared. “Can you help me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started a different story too, so if you like my writing, maybe check it out


	5. Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh oh :O

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo we past 10,000 words, poggers

The Commander could not believe himself. He had not only failed to report what had potential to serve as an instrumental force in his master’s army, he was now exposing himself to and relying on it to serve his own needs. Never before had he been so selfish, so heartless and betraying to his poor master. For this, he could not forgive himself. His guilt slowly ate away at him as he tried to force his body into slumber. His body tossed and turned in his rickety cot, echoing a high-pitched bouncing throughout the room. The Commander looked over to see his prisoner attempting to cover his ears to block the intrusive noise and for a reason he could not comprehend, he felt the need to accommodate him, quieting down his rousing to a quiet shake. His mind desperately searched for any glimmer of hope to aid in his sleep, though nothing he tried found any success. He could not simply dissolve his unrest and overpower his own body into slumber. The idea of asking his master for help entered and clung into his mind, though he could not bring himself to act on it for fear of his secret. That left the Commander still painfully awake and untouched by the sweet release of exhaustion that had earlier clung to him. 

The Commander quickly sprung to his feet and began pacing back and forth across the small boundaries of his quarters, to and from the parallel walls. He had nothing better to do and could possibly tire himself out enough to let sleep take over the rest. The boy was looking at him curiously, his peripheral vision told him so. He ignored his gaze and continued. Eventually, after what could have been five minutes or half an hour, the Commander dropped to the ground and began furiously exerting himself in a variety of draining exercises. His arms began to shake as he continuously lifted himself off the ground unprecedented sets of push-ups. His stomach cried in pain as he crunched up and down against his dresser. Much to his dismay, nothing worked. This angered him greatly. While training his body never failed to give up on him, leading to hasty and violent punishments from those monitoring him, oftentimes his own soldiers on orders from his master. Of course when the Commander most needed his body to give in and falter, it ultimately failed. If anything, he felt more rampant energy course through his veins than ever. 

The boy was still looking over at him, now in amazement. The Commander had no theories of why, he often found it difficult to work out the thought process of the average unaltered and inferior mind. After washing his face and changing into a new identical set of clothes, the Commander again fell into his bed. Exhaustion still failed to grace him and he felt further away from it than ever. He shot up and rubbed his temples in agitation with his outstretched hand. Suddenly, he felt a small shaft in the weight of the bed and a new force gently pressed down on his back. His first reaction was to grab the boy’s hands and pin him against the cold ground, possibly adding a few punches, however he strained to resist. As much as he hated to admit it, trust existed between the two. His faith deemed successful, as the boy began to slowly press small circles with his thumbs into his shoulder blades, finally loosening his taut muscles and relaxing his body. The Commander had failed to realize how truly sore he had been, a mixture of his partially deactivated nervous system and general hardened demeanor, and the other boy’s pressure served to alleviate such pain. 

The Commander unknowingly let his neck fall and his head rest over his chest in a slumped position as his eyes finally flickered shut naturally. He found a yawn forming in his throat, which he enthusiastically released. Suspicion of the boy’s motives threatened to shatter his newfound peace, though he managed to suppress it and fully relax. Soon, his body fully slumped over and the paradise of slumber silenced his pains.

The sudden shattering of the silence cloaking the room snapped the Commander from his much-needed slumber. His eyes darted to the clock beside his bed, internally screaming as he read its time. He had overslept, so much so that his men had been sent to retrieve him. He had never done this before and was embarrassed and agitated by this, though he could not deny his long-overdue rest left him feeling more refreshed, more awake, even almost as alive as ever. A smile snuck onto his face as he threw on his formal attire which grew as he glanced at the sleeping form of the blonde-crowned boy. He had expected to awaken tied up or trapped, if he were to even wake up again at all and was surprised to find the boy sleeping in his own corner, clearly not taking advantage of his own moment of weakness. He knew if he were in the boy’s place, he would have strangled himself in his sleep without question. It was almost too easy. The now-flourished seeds of doubt still refused to exit his mind, though his trust in his prisoner continued to grow. 

Just as another firm knock echoed through his chambers, he swung the door open and hastily exited his room, making sure to close it behind him. The soldiers sent to retrieve him, like all the others in his mindless army, did not fail to quickly raise their hands in salute.

“The King wants to see you sir,” one of them barked in a thick accent that somewhat muddled his speech. “He demanded you come right away.”

“Right, dismissed,” the Commander before quickly breaking eye contact. His intolerance to being in close contact with or even around his own soldiers had been growing lately, now he could barely look them in the eyes of beady pig-like masks without recoiling in disgust and disdain. However, their message was clear and the Commander began to run down the halls. He was already in trouble for his tardy awakening, he could not repeat his mistake when meeting with his master. The endless identical doors of the base flew by him as he navigated through its labyrinthian structure, until a large, imposing door loomed before him. 

The Commander gathered his breath in a deep inhale and pushed the large door open. The initial but growing crack between the door and wall revealed his master. He lay lazily on an ornate throne fit for a king, which of course he was. It was almost all pure gold, save for knobs and jewels of diamonds and other assorted precious gems covering it and a leather red backing and pillow strained under his massive girth. The Commander feared for his master if any of the soldiers or subordinates working around him were to experience a sudden flash of unreasonability and attempt to harm him, as he had no methods of defense or retaliation. 

Standing at under five and a half feet, most of his body came from his huge and albeit disgusting midsection, the result of hours of insatiably stuffing himself with all sorts of sweets and neglecting even the most basic forms of exercise. His title, Emperor Porky, whether given or chosen, certainly suited him. Despite his beyond unappealing form, the Commander respected his master more than anyone else, for he managed to keep a whole army in check while justly watching over the citizens of his new empire. He and his right-hand man, the Commander, saw eye to eye, especially because of their similar relatively disappointing statures, though while the Commander was stocky and muscular, his master was practically immobile due to his abysmally cared-for body in a cripplingly old age. The Commander often wondered how he still managed to cling onto life, but with that came the fear of who would take his place as the emperor of his grand kingdom after his inevitable deceasement. In the eyes of the Commander, none other could fill his shoes.

Without second thought, the Commander found his hand raised in a salute as he bowed the ground, gazing upon his master and savior.

“You’re late,” Porky spat. The Commander recoiled slightly as an aerial strike of spit landed on the metal floor beside him.

“Y-yes, forgive me master,” The Commander replied, still locked in his bowed position. “I am not sure what happened.”

“Let it happen again and you’ll find yourself taking a bath in the happy tanks.” Porky burst out in laughter, snorting as he failed to contain his delight at such a thought. 

The Commander knew his threat was empty, placing his commander and most valuable soldier into a delirious state and out of commission would serve no other purpose than to hinder the emperor himself, but the implications were still clear. His persistently aching muscles from his prior punishment reminded him of the cruel possibilities his master could subject him to.

“I will not let this be repeated, I will make sure of it,” he responded. Of course, he had not purposefully failed to meet his master’s standards, he made no effort to remain in slumber as long as he did. At that moment he committed himself to making sure his promise was not an empty one.

“I hope you’re right, for your sake.” Another explosion of snorting laughter. “Anyways, that is not what I had originally called you in here to discuss. I’m a very busy man after all.”

Beads and sweat began to form under the Commander’s helmet as his eyes darted around the room. Much to his chagrin, he prayed his master remain ignorant of his new prisoner. Not only would he most certainly be reprimanded for failing to notify him of another psi user, in their possession no doubt, he would lose his new companion, a sentiment he was shocked to find himself holding. 

“Funny thing actually,” Porky began. “Our resident scientist who so graciously agreed to work for us had made a new breakthrough in mind-altering products. Those pigmasks are far too stupid to see any noticeable difference, so… You may be out of commission for a while, so to speak.”

The implication hit the Commander like a truck. He could not believe his ears. Those drugs, of course labeled otherwise by his master’s distribution team, were used to subdue and control the populations of the empire. They were even proven to deteriorate the mind over extended use. They were most certainly not an experimental potion one could hop in and out of at a whim. If his master were to go through with his proposition, the Commander would be more than “out of commission” for an extended period of time. Above that though, he had viewed himself as above such matters. While he and his master were certainly not equal in the hierarchy of positions, he at least had placed himself high enough to avoid such matters as essential drug testing.  
“I-I, b-but,” he stammered. “Why can you not try them on anyone else? Am I not essential in this army?”

“Oh you are,” Porky answered. “So much so that I haven’t failed to notice your decline in... quality recently.”

The Commander was left staring at the ground. So he had not been alone in recognizing his failure to work as effectively as the heartless machine he was as he had before.

“You know this stuff is greater for conditioning, brainwashing, all that,” Porky continued. “I say you could use a little reset. Back to factory settings if you will.”

The Commander was sweating profusely now. A week, even a few days ago he would have been happy to oblige in such an act without a second thought, anything to improve his efficiency at his given job. Recently though, while he had admittedly been slipping, it had come with a new feeling he did not recognize. It started out tiny, hidden under layers of suppression and a cold, callous demeanor, though it seemed to have sprouted inside of him, ever since his prisoner arrived. A new sense of curiosity enveloped the Commander. He had always noticed his distance from reality and chillingly emotionless demeanor, especially when compared to the emotional and boisterous soldiers of his army and especially the blonde boy still waiting in his room. The picture of his curious, caring stare still remained in the Commander’s head, refusing to budge and forcing him to ponder his own lack of caring, emotion, or humanity all together. He feared a complete wipe of his memory and contortion to his master’s ideal picture of him, the ultimate soldier and subordinate would clear any traces of this slowly flourishing in him.

“I have noticed it too, though I know I can snap back to it no problem, I promise,” he insisted. “I will perform better than ever before, nothing will stop me this time. Just give me one more chance.” He realized he was practically begging now. He was disgusted with himself.

To his surprise, his master slowly nodded. “If you insist. Though I will warn you, failure to correct yourself is an outcome you do not want to explore.”

“Thank you… master,” the Commander quickly added before finally moving to his feet and hastily marching out the door. As the huge metal door of the cage he had been trapped in shut behind him, he let out a sigh of relief. He was not in the clear yet though, and a clear choice was at the forefront of his mind. Bend to his master’s will as he had found such joy in previously, or face the repercussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug, I'm also writing another story. If you like my writing maybe check it out?????


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